


Transformation

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Burning Bridges [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, GFY, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 21:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12441918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: The journey from disgraced former Starfleet medical officer to a newly-adopted Cardassian surgeon.





	Transformation

"I was told to give this to you."

Aerit studies the data rod the human is holding up for a long moment before she takes a cloth out of her pocket, taking it without letting it or the human's hand touch her skin. Paranoid, perhaps, but she hadn't survived this long without developing a healthy sense of paranoia.

"By whom?" She doesn't put it into the console yet, waiting to hear the human's answer.

"A Mr. Garak." The human is watching her with amusement lightening the tired cynicism in his eyes. As well he should, if he knows anything about why Garak had sent him here.

"How is Garak?" Aerit sets the data rod down with care. She'll see what Garak has to say later, if the data rod includes anything so prosaic as a message. Not poison or micro-explosives, she does at least trust that Garak is too clever by half to attempt to kill her. Not right now, anyway.

"Doing well as can be expected." The human doesn't even glance at the data rod, either trusting Garak not to have given him anything harmful, or knowing exactly what Garak has done, and the danger he handed her.

She studies the human for a long moment, automatically assessing the planes of his face, the way he stands, what would have to be adjusted and tweaked to make him into something else. Someone else.

"Why are you here?"

He's silent for a long moment, studying her in return, a less-guarded version of a familiar sort of calculation in his expression. Weighing what he can and will tell her.

"Garak said you were the best, and that I should come to you." He smiles, a brief flash of teeth that are brighter against human skin than Cardassian. "And that all would be made clear when I arrived."

Aerit chuckles, shaking her head. Even in exile, Garak always would play his games and his schemes. It should be interesting to find out what he is up to now, with this human he has sent into her care.

"I hope you still have all your molars. I'll need one later." She pauses, resting her fingers on the desk next to the data rod. "I do promise, the removal will be painless."

"Why?"

She gives him an amused smile of her own. "Garak sent you to me." She shakes her head when the human opens his mouth to ask another question. "I'm afraid that I will not have the time to answer anything else you might want to ask. Not here, and not now. I'll show you to a room. It would be best if you didn't leave it unless I am escorting you personally. I would hate for Garak's little game to end so swiftly."

The human smiles, brief but sunny, and tilts his head in what she isn't certain he means to be affirmation that Garak is indeed playing some game or another, and that he is a participant rather than a pawn. Or perhaps he does, he is harder to read than most humans she has met.

Of course, he's also here of his own will, and not in chains in someone else's interrogation room. Which, she has neglected one thing.

"I do apologize for the lack of introduction. I am Aerit Milar."

"Julian Bashir." Bashir doesn't hold out his hand for the human greeting of shaking hands, at least, no more than he had when he arrived. Some small knowledge of Cardassian cultural norms, at least. Not entirely unmolded clay, but she had not expected Garak would send this human to her if he hadn't laid at least some groundwork.

Still, it will be interesting to see why Garak had wanted to send a human, of all people, to one of the best of the former Obsidian Order's surgeons.

* * *

_I apologise, for not being able to speak to you in person, nor over subspace, but I thought it would be best neither of us was put in any unnescessary danger, all things considered. There is the matter of a favor which I recall you owe me, and I would request that favor be returned now, if not exactly in kind._

_The delightful young man who has brought you this data rod is in need of some of your unique assistance. I would consider the favor paid in full if you could ensure that he is given suitable guidance and adjustments to facilitate a transition from Starfleet medical officer to a more familiar being to you and I._

_He will make a fine surgeon, if he is given the opportunity to prove himself, and I suspect he will find the people of Cardassia far more welcoming than his Federation, once the necessary alterations are made to his presentation. A protege, perhaps, if you are inclined to accept one._

_I suspect he has also recieved orders from Captain Sisko to provide intelligence reports on the internal affairs of Cardassia, though as he no longer is under the command of the Captain – indeed, nothing more now than a civilian – it is not certain that he will carry out those orders save under the direst of circumstances._

_However, that need not be a concern, provided he is given the appropriate continuation of my guidence to see the galaxy as it is. I trust you will be able to provide that, in order to see your work properly appreciated, and that the good doctor will not disappoint you in that manner._

_If, however, you believe he would be a failure in this endeavor, do be so kind as to return him to me in one piece._

* * *

Aerit removes the data rod from the console when the recording ends, rolling it between gloved fingers as she contemplates Garak's words. It wouldn't be the first time she has made someone else appear as a Cardassian, though this is a more involved project than the one she'd been a part of last year. Then, the Bajoran had only needed to appear to be Cardassian. She'd not needed to truly pass for one.

Of course Garak would offer her both temptation and danger in one package. It is only a question of if the temptation is worth the danger. To showcase her ability to create one truth out of another, and make everyone believe her truth over any other they might have been told or shown. It would be such a challenge to take a human into her surgical suite, and have a Cardassian walk out, more than tinkering with his face and body to create the outward appearance. Even beyond the cultural aspects that Garak implies he has worked to mitigate, there are all the little biochemical profiles and anatomical features that will have to be adjusted. Memories and mannerisms, knowledge and records.

She catches a smile starting to creep over her lips, and shakes her head. Already she is planning, a good sign that this temptation will be worth the risk. There is also that, for all the potential points of failure, she refuses to let herself fail in her art where anyone of consequence can see, much less one exiled man.

Dropping the data rod to the floor, she stomps on it, feeling it break under her heel. Good. Garak hasn't lost his touch completely, even if he is being strangely concerned over a human. That, too, makes this interesting, and Aerit hopes that she will be able to find an answer while working with Bashir..

Aerit sweeps up the shards, dropping them into the small reclamation unit she has for sensitive materials, listening to it run its cycle. Only when the data rod is nothing but dust does she leave it, going to the room she's made over into a surgical suite. It's so much easier to work when she doesn't have to leave the building, especially with the Obsidian Order officially destroyed.

Her preparation is meticulous, making sure everything is laid out just so, instruments, implants, and machines arrayed around the mobile chair and surgical table. She has to recalibrate some of the equipment, and there are some implants that she will have to repurpose – they're meant to fool the scanners of other powers around them, not Cardassian ones. The hardest part of this will be finding ways to ensure that Bashir will not overheat without making it obvious to scanners or other Cardassians that there are cooling mechanisms built in.

It would be easier if she could simply resequence his genetic code, but she does not have the equipment for something so extensive here, and to access it would be to invite suspicion. She does not dare invite that sort of scrutiny, and have her work be in vain.

* * *

"Did you view the message you were supposed to bring me?" Aerit pours a small glass of kanar for Bashir, and an even smaller one for herself. The sooner she begins her work, the better, and she cannot afford to be intoxicated while doing so.

"It was for you." Bashir takes a small sip of the kanar, a faint grimace gracing his face. "Garak knew I wouldn't look at it."

Aerit snorts. Perhaps he had trusted Bashir not to look at it, but she doubts he was that foolish. If he was, then there's far more to this than merely shaping one remarkably intelligent human into something as close to a Cardassian as can be achieved. She isn't inclined to believe that one of Tain's precious proteges would succumb to something as simple as sentiment.

"That's perhaps your first mistake. You might have had a better idea what he had in mind." She watches Bashir for a long moment. "How much do you know about Cardassian physiology, Doctor Bashir?"

"Not as much as I would like." Bashir doesn't touch his kanar, though he keeps hold of the glass. Good. "I know that most are missing one of their adult molars, and rather more about balanced neurochemistry than I suspect most would appreciate, but unfortunately, Cardassian physiology wasn't among the subjects in the curriculum for my medical degree."

"We'll have to correct that, than." Aerit studies Bashir's face for a long moment, mentally planning out how he would look when she's done with him. The exact shape of his scales, the precise positioning of the ridges. How it will change the shape of his face, disguise who he was beneath a mask of Cardassian gray. "Among other deficits. I hope you learn quickly."

A wry and slightly bitter smile curls the corners of Bashir's lips. "One of my many flaws, I assure you."

Aerit raises a brow ridge, but there really isn't time to ask all the questions that invites, much less be able to get proper answers for them. Though she truly wonders how the Federation could survive if learning swiftly is considered a flaw, especially in one of their precious Starfleet officers. That they let him go when he's clearly caught the interest of someone like Garak is strange enough even before she factors in the insanity of allowing someone who can learn with quite possibly Cardassian speed and skill to simply walk away.

If, of course, they really did just let him walk away, and this isn't all some elaborate game. One they'd have had to convince Garak to play, if it is, and that is the greatest reason to doubt that it is. Garak is, for all his flaws, terrifyingly loyal to the Obsidian Order, if nothing else. Even with it gone, burned to ashes in the wake of Enabran Tain's foolishness.

Letting none of that show, Aerit takes another small sip of kanar. "It will serve you well here, no matter what Starfleet or the Federation might have thought of that skill." She pauses, running one finger along the rim of her glass. "Have you ever had memories implanted in your brain before?"

"Not that I'm aware of, why?" Bashir is watching her with a little more wariness in his expression. Good. He should have been more wary from the beginning.

"There are a myriad of little details about being part of Cardassian society which would be faster to incorporate into your memory directly than take the time to teach you." Aerit watches the surprise bloom in Bashir's face, allowing herself a small smile. "I never really was good at being a teacher, not even for those who had achieved a modicum of skill. It's far easier to just implant the knowledge needed."

Bashir looks puzzled, if only briefly. "You were part of the Obsidian Order, weren't you? That's why Garak sent me to you."

"Oh, please, Doctor Bashir, what would be the point of that?" Aerit shakes her head, giving Bashir an indulgent smile that seems to elicit a relexive one of his own. Interesting. "You'd still be a human among Cardassians, and no one is really interested in that happening."

"Then why...?" Bashir trails off, as he works out the answer to his own question, though it is a little disappointing that he even began to ask. "Of course. Your expertise isn't in spying or assassination, is it? You're a doctor."

"Not something so simple or banal, but it will suffice." Aerit finishes her kanar, setting the glass aside. "It will take several days to ensure everything is complete, and there is nothing to contradict the truth I will create for you."

"A new, Cardassian identity." Bashir smiles, letting out a small huff of amusement. "I wondered what Garak intended, asking me to come here. He wouldn't tell me."

"Would you have agreed to his plans if he had?"

Bashir is silent for a moment, his expression visibly thoughtful as he mulls over her question. "I don't know."

"Are you going to go back instead of forward?" If Bashir refuses to agree to this, there isn't much she can do, and Aerit truly hopes he isn't that foolish.

"Go back to what?" Bashir meets her gaze for a long moment, a deep well of bitterness in his gaze. "I can't work as a doctor on Deep Space Nine, and none of my friends seems to know quite where I fit any more."

"Then let me create you someone new, and we'll find you a place to fit."

Bashir, to his credit, only hesitates a moment before he nods in assent. Now the challenge truly begins.

* * *

The first night, Aerit knows Bashir sleeps poorly, new memories settling into his mind and disrupting dreams. It's why the second day is strictly for rest for him, and more preparation for her. Meticulous documentation of a life that never existed, to be carefully and precisesly entered into the proper places.

It will be harder, perhaps, with the latest change in government, and the interest Dukat's allies take in Cardassian affairs, but Aerit is confident she can do this as efficiently as she did before the arrival of the Dominion. Perhaps not quite as efficiently as she had when the Obsidian Order still had teeth, but that freedom to create new truth may never come again.

So she does her work quietly and quickly, and makes visits as she always does to the buildings that she works in to maintain her documented occupation, seeding the truth of Suroi Bajil into the bureaucracy of Cardassia. Nothing but a simple medical archivist maintaining her databases to ensure full accuracy for the edification of the State.

She lets out a quiet, private chuckle when she returns to her home, and the safety of her office, thinking of Garak's message. A protege, he thought, but he cannot be known as such, for what need has an archivist who does not seek advancement for a protege?

No, it will not be Suroi Bajil's role in her public life to be a protege. Some other role shall be needed, one she will have to discuss with Bashir. Adopted brother, perhaps, who has no blood family left to call his own after having been on one of the colonies so cruelly attacked by the Maquis. Of course, it is terribly sad and horrifying that records of his life there were wiped out by the terrorists, but anyone could check the central archives to find the date of his departure for the colonies with his family.

Smiling a moment, she goes to fetch Bashir for dinner, mentally arranging a menu that should be palatable to human tastes. Bashir will have to learn to enjoy Cardassian food eventually, but it need not be tonight.

His color is better when he opens the door at her chime than it was when she left, a healthy human pink under the brown. "Is it evening already?"

"Time for preparing dinner. I hope you were able to rest enough today." Aerit turns away from the door, leading Bashir through the corridor she's disarmed. She'll have to teach him how to arm and disable the booby traps before the end of this, though the idea of someone else being able to move through her home sends a chill down her spine.

"I think I slept most of the day away." Bashir chuckles briefly, sounding a little rueful. "I hadn't expected to."

"You yawned your way through breakfast, and you had new memories to integrate. I am not surprised you slept." Aerit waves Bashir ahead of her into the kitchen, moving around him to the pantry. "There won't be any more tonight. Tomorrow, during the midday meal break, we'll start the first of the surgeries."

"First?"

"This isn't a simple cosmetic alteration for a short-term assignment." Aerit gathers her ingredients, bringing them out to the preparation table. "Simply adding scale ridges and a gray tint to your skin won't fool anyone for very long."

"How far will the alterations go?" Bashir accepts the peeler she passes him, and the roots. "And what about things you can't adjust with surgical techniques?"

"If I had access to a full suite with the equipment for genetic resequencing, this would be less a challenge, but I can ensure that even medical scanners will not be able to discern the difference. At least, standard issue ones." Aerit works as she talks, pausing only when she looks up to check on Bashir. "Would you have objections to a few genetic alterations if I obtain access to the necessary equipment and supplies?"

"How much did Garak mention about why I'm no longer part of Starfleet?" Bashir doesn't look up from the task she's given him, his expression almost blank. Deliberately blank, then.

"Only that you were no longer a part of Starfleet." Aerit rests her knife against the counter as she watches Bashir, curious if his reluctance to allow genetic alterations is merely a piece of Federation doctrine he's taken to heart, or if there's something more – and her instincts suggest it is the latter more than the former.

"I was asked for my resignation over the belief that I had been genetically altered." Bashir picks up the last root, his movements careful and deliberate as he takes the skin off. "I hadn't been, but not because my parents didn't want it. Or rather, my father. I didn't learn things the way he wanted me to, or make the choices with my life that he thought were best for me."

"A parent is supposed to do what is best for their children, and ensure they have the best education." Aerit tilts her head back slightly, watching Bashir as his hands tighten on the peeler and root. "I don't understand how you could be a disappointment, though. You're a doctor, and you've impressed Garak, of all people. There's very little that impresses him, or at least, that he's ever been willing to admit to a collegue."

Bashir's lips twitch, something almost a smile. "I'm afraid that my decision not to accept a more prestigous position with a private hospital on Earth was enough to disappoint my father, no matter the chances of more satisfying work at the fringes of the Federation. I could have been the head of surgery by now, with a wife."

Aerit blinks, and sets her knife down. "Your father objected that you chose service to the State over private ambition and family?" There is no greater calling than service to the State, and for all her delight in personal challenges like this, and the risk that they entail, Aerit has great respect for those who sacrifice all for their service to the State. Even when she isn't entirely certain she likes the individual.

"I'm afraid that's not particularly important to my father." Bashir looks up, finally, a small smile on his face. "It wasn't really the reason I took a position so far from Earth, either, but I suppose it would be a better reason than getting as far from my parents as possible."

"Family is important, as well." Aerit sets a pot down in front of Bashir once he finishs peeling the last root. "I had your parents – your Cardassian parents – die on one of the colonies along the Federation border. Along with all the rest of your family."

"At least I won't be expected to talk about them, then." Bashir glances at the pot. "What now?"

"There's a tap in the corner. That needs enough water to cover the bottom, so it doesn't burn."

Aerit doesn't ask any other questions while they're making dinner, though it's hard to keep quiet, and once they're eating, she directs the conversation to less fraught topics. The project can wait until after dinner, when Bashir will hopefully have calmed his fears about genetic manipulation as a surgeon's tool.

* * *

"That's the last of the implants. You're beginning to look like a proper Cardassian now."

Bashir is still human brown rather than Cardassian gray, but Aerit knows that's one of the last things to change, along with adding at least the appearance of scales. Another reason to want access to the tools for genetic alterations.

"It's a little strange, seeing my face like this." Bashir looks up from the mirror he's studying his altered face in. "It's still the wrong color, though."

"And missing proper scales, and your genitals are still on the outside, but that is all that remains that can be done without equipment I can't currently access without suspicion." Aerit keeps her face carefully blank as Bashir's goes through some interesting convolutions. He's done the same every time she's mentioned having to restructure his genitals, and he's already accused her of mentioning it so often on purpose. Which, of course she is, but there's no need to admit it to him.

"Tomorrow?"

"No, the day after. It's my rest-day, and I'll be able to finish all of it at once." Aerit will be glad, for all the delight of this challenge, to be finished with the first stage, and move on to the next. There will be questions, but she has answers for them, if some that will never be able to be confirmed. Meticulous record keepers, the Cardassians may be, but there are some secrets that are best kept solely in the heads of those who need to know.

"What happens after that?" Bashir pushes himself to his feet, swaying a moment before he catches his balance. "I don't suppose you have the influence to simply find me a place in Cardassian society."

"I have access to archives across Cardassia, including the Central Archive, and am known to certain servants of the State to have been part of the Obsidian Order before its fall." Aerit tidies the last of her tools out of the way, watching Bashir from the corner of her eye. "I don't need influence, just assumptions on the part of others, and a few well-placed archival entries."

"Suroi Bajil, the only survivor of his family from one of the disputed colonies, adopted brother to Namia Ashel." Bashir gives her a wry smile as he rattles off the simplest version of the history she's constructed in snippets and tatters. "And the State will ignore any discrepancies?"

"If someone notices them, they'll ask, and you will tell them only that only the head of the Obsidian Order has the clearance to know what is in your head." Aerit smiles as she ushers Bashir out of the small surgical suite. "They'll turn to me, since I clearly know you, and I will tell them only that what is in the archives is all they're cleared to know, and indeed, all I was cleared to know, before and after your mission."

"Won't they go looking for more information?"

"Where?" Aerit goes to the kitchen, Bashir settling at the chair at the preparation table. "The only ones able to access Obsidian Order archives are members of the Obsidian Order, and only those who know where those archives are, and how to disarm the traps on them."

"They could tell you to bring them the relavent information from the archives."

"Dukat could issue the order himself, and all it would accomplish is giving me blatent permission to take you into the archives, and lock us inside and the rest of Cardassia out. I could have access to everything I need to make the truth utterly unquestionable, down to your genetics." Aerit sets the fish she'd procured earlier in front of Bashir, along with a knife. "I would rather be more discreet, and not have anyone have cause to ask in the first place."

"Would anyone around here?" Bashir looks down at the fish a moment before he picks up the knife, giving it another puzzled look before he uses the knife like he might a scapel to dissect something.

"No. They know me. They trust me, in as much as they know me. If I tell my neighbors you are Suroi Bajil, that I adopted you as a brother, and that you have only just been able to return home from one of the colonies, they'll accept my word. Unless you're foolish enough to give them reason to doubt that."

"Than I shall do my utmost not to arouse their suspicions."

Aerit nods, before turning her attention to the vegetables that will cook with the fish, keeping one eye on Bashir to ensure he doesn't do himself any harm or mangle the fish while attempting to prepare it. At least he hasn't asked again why she doesn't have a food replicator in her house. The fewer means others have to infiltrate her home, the better.

* * *

Aerit sets the last of her tools in the autoclave, keeping an eye on Bashir out of the corner of her eye while she waits for the sedatives to wear off. Bajil, now, as completely as she can make him. Implants to fool all but genetic scanners, the right lines for the clean silhouette of a Cardassian in his prime, the grayed tinge of his skin, scales and ridges all where they belong.

Perhaps one day there will be the chance to change him more completely, to ensure there wouldn't be a risk that he'd collapse in the heat of summer, to allow him to pass even genetic scans, to allow changes in his metabolism and immunity that cannot be gifted him without tinkering at a genetic level.

A faint noise makes her smile, and Aerit turns to watch Bajil come awake, her created truth given life with returning consciousness.

"Give it another day for the final changes to settle, and I'll walk with you to the clinic. They'll be glad to have another licensed doctor to assist them, since their current one is retiring soon." Aerit watches as Bajil blinks at the ceiling, helping him to sit up when he starts to move.

"It feels strange." Bajil sits on the edge of the table, leaning forward slightly, his hands opening and closing over the edge. "I'm not certain I like it."

"You'll have to adapt." Aerit picks up the mirror she'd left off to the side for today, holding it out for Bajil to take. Waiting until he's studying his finished face in it before she says anything else. "Satisfied with my work, Doctor Bajil?"

There's silence for a long moment, Bajil moving the mirror to study all the little details of his transformation. "You do excellent work. I'm glad to finally be given a chance to look at it properly."

Aerit lets out a quiet chuff of amusement, turning to close the autoclave and set it to run its cycle. "I am the best, Bajil." She meets his gaze when she looks at him again. "Tell Garak, when you write him, that I owe him nothing."

"I will." Bajil sets the mirror aside, tilting his head in polite acknowledgement that this is more than just the discharge of a favor. "What do I owe you?"

"To survive." Aerit takes the mirror back, tilting her chin up a fraction in quiet command. "Do not fail to live up to my art."

"I can do nothing less than do my best." Bajil smiles, and Aerit sighs, hoping that he will indeed do as he has said. After all, giving him the appearance and knowledge to be accepted as a Cardassian is only the beginning of the transformation.

"Rest now. Leave exploring the final changes of your anatomy for no earlier than tomorrow." Aerit supresses a small smile at the faint blue color that flushes Bajil's chufa and neck ridges. It's good to see that the neural redirection works even on unconscious reactions. No darkening of the cheeks to give away that Bajil was not born Cardassian.

* * *

"It's fortunate your brother is a doctor, Ashel." Gennel smiles slightly as she passes Aerit the bundle of padds for archiving.

"If you were not retiring, I would have had no reason to save him from recruitment by the military for their service." Aerit smiles at the older woman.

"But a male who has the temperment to choose civilian medical service over military? It's a rare thing." Gennel widens her eyes slightly, head tilted slightly to read as curious. "Did more than his medical ability catch your attention, Ashel?"

"If it had, would I have adopted him as my brother?" Aerit gives Gennel an amused look. "But just because I do not find any interest in courting him doesn't mean someone else won't."

Gennel chuckles, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Nieces and nephews to spoil, then. A cunning plan, Ashel."

"Always." Aerit smiles, before taking her leave of the doctor with a nod, glad to escape before Gennel could ask further questions. Normal questions, that do not pry at the edges of new and potentially fragile truth, but questions that irritate all the same.

It is perhaps to be expected, as Ashel lives alone, her family far from the district she has been assigned as archivist, though she speaks fondly of them. Better than the ashes and bitter regret that are all she has of the family she'd made of the Order. That, a handful of former collegues who she does not dare speak to under the new regime, and one exiled man who had sent her a project like an apology present.

Aerit would snort if she were at home, with no prying eyes and ears to wondering about Ashel's private amusement.

An apology present, as if he had caused her some grevious insult by having the ill grace to be exiled when the Order fell to the folly of one overly-arrogant male. An apology present wrapped up in the guise of a favor returned, with no proper information about just what Garak felt he needed to apologize for.

Oh, she could imagine it might be an apology for a death, but what could Garak have done to stop Tain, when the man was responsible for Garak's exile? What could any of those who'd remained behind have done to save their family but what they had done, and live?

Archiving the reports takes little enough of her afternoon for her to make a few adjustments to other files, obscuring another surviving agent of the Order's current whereabouts and life. Refining another truth she'd helped to create, with the hope that eventually they will be able to recreate the family they'd been, that had its fingers in every branch and root of Cardassia, finding, shaping, and creating truth with the best and brightest.

Or perhaps creating a new family, one which still creates and shapes, but perhaps not so much from the shadows. A project of creation that is greater in scope than the one Garak had openly sent her, but none of them have been known for saying anything openly.

Aerit smiles to herself in the quiet of the archives, beginning to build the idea in her head. A new truth for Cardassia, when she figures out how to build it in life as well as her head.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr 28 October-30 November 2016.


End file.
